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Davina Again

By LimeyLady

Copyright Mark C Woolridge (writing as LimeyLady), 2017

Distributed by Smashwords

All characters and events in this publication,

other than those clearly in the public domain,

are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons,

living or dead, is purely coincidental.

Table of Contents


Chapter Nine - Sleeping With Sara

Chapter Ten - Miss Williams

Chapter Eleven - Coming Out

Chapter Twelve - Friday Night

Chapter Thirteen - Ellie

Chapter Fourteen - Saturday Night

Chapter Fifteen - More Ellie

Chapter Sixteen - Confrontation

Chapter Seventeen - Bye For Now

Author’s Note

Other Books by LimeyLady


Hi it’s me again, Davina, although I hope by now you’re thinking of me as “Dave”.

As introductions go, this is going to be a short one. For anyone who missed the story of me losing my virginity, I’d have you know I’m currently twenty-six and often get mistaken for a bloke. I’m also tired of being depicted as a boring IT nerd so (quite shamelessly) I’m regaling you with tales of my escapades with girls. That’s purely in the interests of broadening horizons, of course. The fact I’m basically a slut has nothing to do with it.

Well, not much.

Boring and boyish I may be, but I have plenty of girl-on-girl tales to tell.

And I may be flat-chested and boyish, but I am by no means butch. Equal opportunities . . . that’s me to a T!

Because I’m kind and considerate, I’m going to try to make this latest selection a self-contained story (with emphasis on “try”). If you want to read more about my earlier adventures then please, feel free. But you really don’t have to.

Be like me and live for the day.

Okay, that’s enough of the foreplay. Let’s get back to October 2008 and the joys of the upper sixth.

Chapter Nine

My five days and nights as Sara’s housemate were fantastic. I simply cannot use any other word to describe them. I’ll give you a general outline but it can’t begin to do justice.

Nothing could do justice to the intimate bits . . . or so I believed at the time.

Yes, the sex was utterly, totally, absolutely mind-blowing. And we had tons of it; tons and tons. From the minute we woke to the minute we fell into sated sleep we hardly ever stopped. It was very highly addictive and it kept getting better and better.

Wow, didn’t it just!

The bad news was that school got in the way of our bedroom gymnastics. We had to be there all day Friday, Monday and Tuesday. Tuesday marked the end of our idyll and the temptation to bunk off was simply enormous (even though I never bunked once in my entire school career). Eighteenth birthday parties on the Friday and Saturday nights also got in the way, and I never thought I would say that!

And I had to work in the Spar on Monday evening!

Greek gods couldn’t have conspired to mess us about more. Jason and the Argonauts never had it so tough.

Okay, so I’m exaggerating. But every second out of her home was lost to us forever.

Dirty dancing, snogging and being a checkout girl suddenly seemed tame compared to the things we could do in her parents’ double bed.

Those precious moments alone together were so, so hot!

Other obligations aside, we spent most of our long weekend practicing cunnilingus and mastering the art of sixty-nine. And believe you me; our skills came on in leaps and bounds. From clumsy, fumbling amateurs we were soon up in porn star class.

Honest to God, I am not joking with that last statement. Confidence breeds success, right; every bit as much as practice makes perfect.

And how practiced did we get after all those hours of rehearsal! It’s fair to say we weren’t just perfect, we were tongue-tip perfect. I’m shivering at the memory as I write this.

Yes, those five nights were hot all right.

We even taught ourselves how to control our orgasms. Instead of cumming randomly, at the drop of a hat, we began to hold off longer and longer, building and building, higher and higher. Please don’t get me wrong; I had no problem with cumming at the drop of a hat, but dragged out climaxes were ace.

Especially the ones that were really, really dragged out.


In case you’re wondering we declared Monday to be laundry day, cleaning all the cum-stained sheets and remaking the double bed, leaving the master bedroom as we’d found it. Then we proceeded to stain the sheets of Sara’s single during a particularly passionate last night together.

(Fortunately, like me she did her own washing; we were able to stash the evidence in her basket, under a mound of other soiled items.)

Then we faced up to reality. For me it was another evening behind the checkout at Spar, followed by a lonely night back at home, alone in my own bed. Sara didn’t even have Spar to look forward to. She did, however, have one or two irons in the fire . . . starting with a “family weekend away”.

And yes, she did drop that on me out of the blue.

I stared at her over the breakfast table, nonplussed. I was aware she had a family fortnight coming up at Easter (I secretly had hopes she might wangle her way out of it, leaving me free to housekeep with her again). But a having a whole weekend away . . . and the coming weekend at that . . .

‘Hastings,’ I said, ‘who on earth goes to Hastings in October?’

‘King Harold did,’ Sara said smartly.

That threw me off track a bit. ‘Was the Battle of Hastings in October?’

‘Yes it was; on the fourteenth, to be precise.’

‘Well,’ said I, ‘he wouldn’t have been sending cheery postcards home, would he? It’s far too late in the year, even without an arrow in your eye.’

Flushing a little, she explained. Easter was being spent in their parents’ timeshare in Lanzarote. They had had the timeshare for ten years or more, as had their holiday next door neighbours and their own family. Friendships had long since been made and both sets of parents had grown close. More to the point, this Saturday was Alan’s eighteenth birthday party and they’d all been invited.

‘We’re picking Jenny up on Friday,’ Sara told me. ‘It’s almost impossible to prise her away from uni so I can’t back out. Mum simply wouldn’t let me.’

‘Alan,’ said I suspiciously. ‘Don’t tell me, let me guess. You’ve know him over ten years and he’s like a brother to you.’

‘It’s nothing as corny as that,’ she protested. ‘He’s a friend, that’s as far as it goes.’

I wasn’t happy and I didn’t appreciate the way she blushed whenever she mentioned Alan’s name, but what could I do except grin and bear it?

‘Looks like I’ll be partying this weekend on my own,’ I concluded grumpily.

‘Watch out for Ellie,’ Sara replied, ‘she’s got the hots for you, young lady.’

Chapter Ten

There was one good thing about being back home: I got a full night’s sleep for the first time in about a week. I was, therefore, quite relaxed at school on Wednesday morning; relaxed and unprepared to be asked to stay behind after registration.

Still in my chair I watched our form teacher, Miss Williams, close the door behind the last of my class, wondering what I could possibly have done wrong. In keeping with my very boring reputation I’d never been in any sort of trouble and my grades were all as healthy as ever. So whatever could it be?

Miss Williams was about thirty and taught sports. I’m a bit iffy with descriptions so, to give you an idea as to her appearance, I’ll just say that my male schoolmates called her “The Sex Kitten”. Not that she looked like a young Brigitte Bardot; if you ask me she was more like a young Audrey Hepburn, and so very athletic with it.

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